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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248989">Leave the Door Wide Open</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bustle/pseuds/Bustle'>Bustle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, F/F, Frottage, Light Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Vaginal Fingering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:21:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bustle/pseuds/Bustle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Hawke's battle with the Arishok, Isabela and Hawke comfort each other and dance around the feelings they've been pointedly ignoring.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Hawke/Isabela</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chocolate Box - Round 6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Leave the Door Wide Open</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/gifts">ziskandra</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scytale">Scytale</a>, my wonderful beta!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Realistically speaking, Marian Hawke knows she got off lightly. She should probably be grateful that she survived being launched into a crumbling pillar by an angry Qunari warlord, and that’s putting aside the various slashes and the near-gutting she’d received from his blade. Anders already healed the majority of the damage, and only time will help the rest.</p><p>Still, when she reaches for her lukewarm tea and is hit with a fresh bolt of pain shooting up her side, she doesn’t <i>feel</i> grateful to be alive. </p><p>“Oh, balls,” she mutters, flinching. Hawke’s a lot of things but she’s no quitter, so she keeps stretching and grabs the cup from its saucer.</p><p>Idleness has never been easy for Hawke. As comfortable as her room is, being stuck inside it on bed rest has gotten old quickly. She’s already read the latest <i>Hard in Hightown </i>installment twice, coaxed Orana into playing numerous little games in between her duties, and watched her dog spend hours trying to dig a hole through her rug. Now she’s reduced to hurting herself reaching for a terrible medicinal concoction she doesn’t want to drink just so she’ll have something to do.</p><p>Hawke is saved from grimly contemplating her tea by a knock on her door.</p><p>“Thank the Maker,” she says, quiet and heartfelt, and then louder, “Come in!”</p><p>Isabela pushes the door open with uncharacteristic hesitance. Her customary sly smile sits strangely, pulled taut and wrong-angled.</p><p>“Hawke. I wanted…” she pauses, and blows out a breath, her brows pinching together. “Well, I don’t really know what I wanted to do, but here I am. I know, you’re surprised.”</p><p>Hawke dumps her teacup back on the bedside table, ignoring how the tea slops over the side from her handling. She pats the coverlet in invitation. </p><p>“Not at all,” Hawke says cheerfully. “If anything, you’ve been present for most of the worst days of my life! At least half of them, surely. It’s less of an attendance issue and more of a problem with the cut-and-run once you’re there.” She sees Isabela flinch just the slightest in response, and sighs. Hawke and her big mouth.</p><p>“You do always come back, though. Now <i>that</i> was a surprise.”</p><p>Isabela laughs, but it doesn’t sound quite right. She swaggers over to the bed and seats herself. She pins her gaze on Hawke, still smiling, but it seems more aimed at Hawke’s shoulder than her face.</p><p>“Well, I couldn’t leave my source of hat money behind, could I?”</p><p>Hawke reaches out, and they twine their fingers together. Isabela’s blithe words are belied by her tight grip on Hawke’s hand, but Hawke politely chooses not to comment on that.</p><p>“Yes, nobody keeps you in plumes and wide brims like I do,” Hawke says. “Or in opportunities to get stabbed in a large variety of landscapes, often by very strange people. Just think, if you left and I wasn’t around, it would be back to always having people trying to stab you at sea, or in the same old seedy back-alleys. Very boring.”</p><p>Isabela laughs again, startled and real this time. It turns to a muffled half-snort, half-sob, and she lets out another shaky breath. “Awful,” she agrees.</p><p>Hawke tugs on their joined hands, pulling Isabela closer for a kiss. The angle is awkward, and Isabela clambers on top of her instead. Hawke is promptly shoved up against the headboard. It’s exciting at first—Isabela playfully bites Hawke's bottom lip before deepening the kiss, and blood is starting to rush to all sorts of places—but then Hawke is run through with another twinge of pain.</p><p>“Oh! Ow, ouch,” Hawke complains, pushing Isabela away. “Pain, and not the fun kind, either. I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone such activities. Even after he’s dead, the Arishok is getting his payback. Bastard.” </p><p>“His real punishment for me all along, no doubt,” Isabela says. She sits back and runs a careful hand down Hawke’s arm. “How bad is it, pet?”</p><p>“Sore all over, but nothing worse than you’ve achieved in some of our...more adventurous nights,” Hawke says, throwing in a wink for good measure. The mostly-healed wound on her abdomen pulses with pain as if to put a point on her lie, and Hawke presses her arm over it for comfort. Isabela’s sharp eyes track the motion and dart away.</p><p>“I would stay and kiss it better, but I think I’ve done enough damage for one day,” she says, slipping off the bed. She pauses on her way to the door.</p><p>“Hawke...nobody has ever...ugh!” Isabela stops herself with a grimace and starts over. “I do appreciate you, Hawke. Next time I’ll make sure someone else gets disemboweled for my troubles and leave you out of it.”</p><p>“Of course! I’ll be the one doing the disemboweling,” Hawke says. “Although I suppose that’s not leaving me out of it. Alas, I have a condition, and it’s called Inserting Myself Into My Friends’ Problems. Anders says it’s incurable.”</p><p>Isabela pulls a face. She doesn’t object to Hawke’s continued interest in her affairs, which Hawke decides to count as a win. She sweeps out of Hawke’s room with a wave, and Hawke settles back down into the boredom of the healing process, trying to ignore the constellation of aches and pains that make up her body and the lingering feeling of Isabela’s hand in hers.</p><p><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
</p><p>Isabela visits her twice afterwards, bringing cards to swindle Hawke’s snacks away from her and scribbling dirty notes in the margins of her reading material. There’s no more talk of the Arishok, not as much kissing as Hawke would like, and not a single person to disembowel together, which is incredibly disappointing.</p><p>By the time Hawke is well enough for sex, she and Isabela have more or less regained their equilibrium. They’re back to their regular tricks, a careful dance worthy of Isabela’s Duelist name as they poke and prod and circle endlessly, laughing and fucking and drawing each other in only to back away hastily once again.</p><p>The two of them are playing the same old song again tonight. Isabela bursts through the door to her room in the Hanged Man, swiftly pursued by Hawke, who slams the door shut and shoves Isabela up against it. Hawke wedges a thigh between Isabela’s and is gratified by the way Isabela immediately grinds down on it, the heat of her palpable through her smallclothes. Isabela retaliates, working her fingers through Hawke’s hair to tug on the roots. The small pain shoots through her scalp and transmutes into pleasure, warming her all over and zinging down between her legs.</p><p>For a minute, they’re content to press against each other just like that, Isabela’s breath hot on Hawke’s neck as they moan and writhe and jostle the door. It’s not enough, though, and soon they’re push-pulling their way across the room to the bed, shedding vambraces and daggers as they go.</p><p>Hawke’s hands slide to Isabela’s hips, tugging her close and unwinding her sash from her waist. Isabela pulls back and smirks down at the silky fabric as Hawke twists it around her hands.</p><p>“Going to tie me up with that, sweet thing?”</p><p>“I—really?” Hawke blurts, too surprised to answer with her usual glibness. </p><p>Isabela surprises her further, slowly removing her earrings and necklace to place them on her rickety bedside table. Her golden gaze roots Hawke’s feet to the floor, intense and searching. </p><p>In all the times they’ve fooled around, the jewelry has never come off. Isabela looks strange without the flashy gold around her face, smaller somehow. She’s still wearing her tunic, but she looks more naked than Hawke’s ever seen her. Hawke didn’t know a bare collarbone could look so intriguing.</p><p>“I’m game if you are,” Isabela says, and she sits down to tug her boots off without further preamble. Hawke rushes to catch up and slides her pants down as well, hopping on one foot when the fabric catches around the other. </p><p>The thought that Isabela would allow herself to be caught in such a way—that she would trust <i>Hawke</i> with such a thing—is arresting.</p><p>Too impatient to wait any longer, Hawke tackles Isabela to the bed and gets to work.</p><p>Some minutes later, Hawke is forced to admit to herself that perhaps it isn’t as big of a show of trust as she imagined, considering how her shoddy handiwork makes escaping child’s play. Isabela slips out of all her bindings as nimbly as she dodges everything from traps to blades to discussions about feelings.</p><p>It’s worth the frustration to see Isabela with a twinkle in her eye again. Isabela rolls her shoulders and shrugs out of another of Hawke’s attempts at knotwork with her easy grace, a smug grin on her lips.</p><p>“Poor Hawke,” she says, “how will I ever make a proper sailor out of you?”</p><p>Hawke tries to ignore the way her pulse jumps at the implication of a future together. It’s futile, the way she runs perpetual circles, trying to pull every small flirtation apart for the promise of more. She holds her hands out, sash laid across her open palms, and pastes a flirty, carefree smile on her face. Her heart beats rabbit-fast in her chest.</p><p>“Perhaps a demonstration, then?”</p><p>Isabela quirks an eyebrow at her, slipping the sash from Hawke’s grasp. </p><p>“Alright. No shirt and no smalls, or no service, though,” she says, scooting around behind Hawke. “I prefer my presents already unwrapped before I tie the bow on.”</p><p>“That doesn’t even make sense!” Hawke cries, unable to help herself. “Why are you tying bows onto your own presents?”</p><p>“I’m teaching you, here,” Isabela says, though there’s too much laughter in her voice to be properly scolding. “I’ll use whatever terrible metaphors I like.”</p><p>Hawke tugs her shirt over her head and tosses it away, then wriggles out of her underwear in short order. She holds it up, dangling it proudly over her shoulder at Isabela.</p><p>“Unwrapped and ready to go, messere,” she says.</p><p>“Hawke.” Isabela snatches the underwear from Hawke’s hand and drops it over the side of the bed. She leans over Hawke’s shoulder and turns her chin to the side, kissing her deep and slow and until they absolutely have to break for air. “Shut up.”</p><p>Then, Isabela draws Hawke’s arms behind her back, forcing her to sit up straighter and pull her shoulders back while Isabela wraps the sash neatly around her wrists. </p><p>“I hope you’re paying close attention,” Isabela says with a snort.</p><p>Hawke nods enthusiastically and tests the bindings, finding them much more secure than she could ever manage. Isabela did, well, <i>something,</i> and Hawke doesn’t have the faintest clue what  makes it so different from her own sloppy attempts. </p><p>“A very illuminating lesson, thank you.” Isabela’s finger probes under the sash, testing the tightness against Hawke’s skin. Apparently satisfied, she sidles back around in front of Hawke and finishes unlacing her half-opened tunic.</p><p>“We’re just getting started, sweet pea,” she assures Hawke.</p><p>Hawke’s body thrums with anticipation. Isabela seems to feel it, and she moves slowly, making a great show of her undressing. She peels herself out of the last of her clothing, runs a hand down her chest to play with her breasts. As Isabela isn’t particularly sensitive there, Hawke can only assume she’s doing it to tease her instead, making a tantalizing display of what she can’t reach. </p><p>“You truly have the most magnificent tits,” Hawke breathes, her mouth running on its own accord as always.</p><p>She teeters forward, planting her face between Isabela’s breasts to nuzzle her cheek against the generous, soft curves before licking a taut nipple and sucking it into her mouth. Isabela runs an indulgent hand through her hair, then pushes her back and away, up against the headboard.</p><p>“Hawke,” she tuts, “when you’re tied up, it means that I decide where you go.”</p><p>Hawke grins, entirely unrepentant. </p><p>“Can you decide that I’ll go between your thighs, preferably very soon?”</p><p>Isabela cackles. “Well, when you put it like that, saying no sounds stupid of me.” She straddles Hawke’s thigh, framing it with her own as she seats herself. It wasn’t quite what Hawke meant, but a good start, she thinks.</p><p>They get a lazy rhythm started, Isabela rolling her hips to drag her cunt along Hawke’s thigh. She keeps her knee carefully positioned so that Hawke can’t quite grind against it. Isabela squeezes her breasts together, shooting a wicked smile at Hawke.</p><p>“Mmm,” Isabela moans, loud and theatrical, and slides a hand down her stomach and further, fingers splayed to apply pressure around her clit. </p><p>It’s so unfair, Hawke thinks, and her fingers scrabble uselessly at the sash. Those should be her hands. She pushes up as Isabela bears down, and stares longingly at everything she can’t touch.</p><p>She must look like a kicked mabari, because Isabela looks at her face and laughs.</p><p>“Oh, go ahead, then,” she says. The way she leans back, it’s clear she expects Hawke to press her face into her breasts again, but Hawke instead lunges forward to bury her face into the crook of Isabela’s neck.</p><p>“I—oh!” Isabela exclaims. Her steady grinding falters.</p><p>“Alright?” Hawke asks, licking a line up her neck. Isabela shudders underneath her.</p><p>“Yes,” she pants, and starts riding Hawke’s thigh again with more vigor. </p><p>Their new angle puts her knee in a better position for Hawke to find at least fleeting friction, and they work each other into a frenzy. Hawke sucks bruising kisses into Isabela’s neck, marveling at the naked curve where Isabela’s neck joins her shoulder. She licks along her collarbone, then moves back up to leave lovebites all over this previously unexplored territory. </p><p>Isabela cries out. Her hand moves furiously between them, rubbing tighter and tighter circles on her clit. The heat of her cunt scorches Hawke, smearing her arousal into her skin with every roll of her hips. Isabela comes, gasping and trembling on top of her, and Hawke is close, so close, her clit pulsing with her heartbeat and beyond ready—the brush of Isabela’s knee is too broad and elusive a touch, it’s not enough, but it could be, if she could just—</p><p>“Position change! Face down, ass up,” Isabela says cheerily, abruptly pulling away. Hawke groans, frustrated. Isabela is still aglow with her pleasure, the picture of sweaty, sated happiness, and Hawke wants to kiss her so badly she aches, even though she also wants to scream from annoyance.</p><p>Isabela’s smile says that she knows exactly how close Hawke was. </p><p>“You’re so, so cruel to me,” Hawke complains, but she obediently rolls over and scrambles to get her knees situated underneath herself.</p><p>Isabela murmurs approval, squeezing one round cheek of Hawke’s ass firmly and then giving it a light slap. The sting makes Hawke throb, her thwarted orgasm still simmering but slipping away from her. She shifts her knees again, spreading her legs further in a silent plea. She’s so wet, and unbearably hot, and the cool night air hitting her cunt as she puts herself on display makes her shiver.</p><p>“Look at you,” Isabela says, low and warm. She runs her fingers along Hawke’s vulva and loops wide around her clit, too light to do anything but tease further. Hawke pushes her face into a pillow and groans.</p><p>“If all you do is look, I’m leaving,” Hawke threatens, muffled by the pillow, but it’s so obviously hollow that Isabela doesn’t even dignify it with a response. </p><p>Isabela toys with her, fingers massaging and probing and stroking her into madness, but holding release just out of reach. Hawke spends an interminable amount of time drifting, strung along in Isabela’s wake. Isabela leans down and scatters bites on her thighs, the curve of her ass, whispers sweet and filthy words into her skin, and then finally, suddenly, presses two fingers in deep. </p><p>She’s damp to her thighs with her own wetness, and Isabela swipes her thumb against her folds to wet it before pressing it firmly to her clit, just for a moment. Hawke thrusts back onto those clever fingers, shameless and desperate, and moans loud enough for all of Lowtown to hear. She doesn’t care. She wants them to know what Isabela does to her.</p><p>Isabela fucks her with her fingers and Hawke bucks her hips and they get her right back up to the edge. The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall, a counterpoint harmony with the way the cheap mattress creaks under the weight of her thrusts. </p><p>There’s a tug on the sweat-soaked sash still holding her wrists together, and Isabela hauls her upright, tugging Hawke back onto her lap and knocking Hawke’s knees wide with her own between them. With Hawke spread out to her satisfaction, she slides a hand down and gets right back to work. Her other hand kneads Hawke’s breast. Isabela isn’t sensitive there, but she knows Hawke is, and she plays on it now.</p><p>“Come on, Hawke,” she breathes in her ear, and Hawke quivers in her arms. </p><p>Isabela tugs on her nipple, pinching and twisting, and presses the heel of her hand on Hawke’s swollen, overstimulated clit, waves of pain and pleasure circling around each other into one. Hawke is one raw nerve, played upon expertly by Isabela’s calloused, knowing hands. </p><p>Hawke rides Isabela’s hand into oblivion and comes so hard she screams. </p><p>By the time she’s cognizant, she’s face down in the pillow again, her ass still in the air. Confident, capable hands undo her bindings, and Hawke lets her arms flop down to her sides. There’s an ache in her shoulders and her wrists are scratchy, and she’s never felt more wonderful. </p><p>Isabela runs her hands down Hawke’s sides, and Hawke shifts to lay on her back, wanting to look at her. Hawke’s so wet, she can feel the slick slide of it between her thighs as she moves. She’s so tender and delightfully sore that she lays with her legs spread apart, not ready to feel anything between them yet. </p><p>Hawke smiles up at Isabela, and she can feel how goofy it must look, with her wrung out like a dishrag and punch-drunk. Isabela smirks, cupping her cheek fondly.</p><p>“So next time, you’ll know how to do it to me, right?”</p><p>“Mhmm,” Hawke says, too tired for words. She grasps weakly at Isabela, clumsy and fumbling. Isabela obliges, curling up beside Hawke. </p><p>Hawke drapes an arm over Isabela’s waist and feels her stiffen. She knows, deep in her marrow, that Isabela will not be there when she wakes. Her heart squeezes pitifully in her chest. It’s fine, Hawke tells herself. It’s fine, it’s fine.</p><p>Isabela will leave, but she’ll always come back, and that’s the important part.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title taken from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W09JxJSjoO8">Leave the Door Wide Open by NO.</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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